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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042317">ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/amitye/pseuds/amitye'>amitye</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>60s AU, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Possessive Behavior, Recreational Drug Use, Unreliable Narrator, Wedding Fluff, not super relevant in the end</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:55:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,729</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/amitye/pseuds/amitye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tybalt and Mercutio's playful rivalry has always been a good cover for their secret relationship, but when the stakes get higher it gets harder to pretend it's all like a game</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mercutio/Tybalt (Romeo and Juliet)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cennoreth/gifts">Cennoreth</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tybalt downed a glass of cold beer, trying in vain to figure out a discreet and dignified way to fan himself with his cardboard and tinfoil shield. The July sun had already set, leaving his uncle’s dining hall and garden picturesquely lit with paper lanterns and tall baptism candles, but the heat hadn’t given respite to anyone and he was sorely regretting the childish enthusiasm he had shown when his aunt suggested such realistically heavy armor as his costume for the party. </p><p>Juliet, who, being fourteen and stubborn as a mule, had refused the light princess silks that had been proposed in favor of a rather age-inappropriate barmaid leather corset and patchwork skirt, was similarly vexed, dancing with very little enthusiasm with the handsome young intern her parents had invited for her and running to hide in the fountain every time the occasion presented itself.<br/>
Tybalt had envied her a little at the start of the party - he had been the one to propose blatantly copying the Ren Faire that had started running in Milan just a few years ago and everyone seemed to be dying about, and while he knew better than expecting credit by now, it felt unfair he wouldn’t even get to dance. His uncle’s reasoning stung too - the chief of police would be attending, true enough, Juliet was to be hitched to his nephew, sure, and Tybalt was a prickly, insufferable drunk, many would agree. He would accept it, usually. </p><p>But his uncle had gotten in a <i> physical </i> fight just that morning, middle aged businessmen going at each other with baseball bats like schoolchildren, in the public square and such to deserve a scolding from the chief in person, and he had scolded Tybalt for <i> losing </i> a fight in public on the top of it - when he barely had managed to have time to <i> start </i> it, weaselly sweet-talking hypocrite as Ben Montague was! In such circumstances, he found it difficult to buy he was the biggest threat to Capulet honor and reputation. </p><p>Still, dancing wasn’t turning out to be all that fun, God knew this party needed better security than last year’s, and he supposed he was more inclined to frown intimidatingly than to make small talk and be charming, so he accepted his fate. </p><p>"Aye, aye, well come, sers." He muttered, checking the invitations of a group of Juliet's pimply classmates in their lackluster knight suits and polyester cloaks. He didn't know why his aunt and uncle bothered with that. It was pretty obvious to everyone Juliet was intended for more important purposes than meddling and playing spin-the-bottle with a bunch of eighth graders. </p><p>He eyed the smaller group behind them - six or seven people in dark robes, wearing the long beaked masks of plague doctors. This was going to be tiring. "May I ask who ye be, lusty gentlemen?" </p><p>The doctor ahead of the party took one step towards Tybalt and unmasked, revealing a fall of strawberry blond curls and a mischievous smile tugging at freckled and sunburned cheeks.<br/>
"Your death." Mercutio said, and Tybalt had to sigh, lean against the garden wall and bury his face in his palm to hide the effect it had on him. </p><p>"Likely, or at least my untimely white hair."<br/>
He tugged at Mercutio's collar to pull him closer to him, smirking when he lifted him for a split second and Mercutio had to bite his lip. "What have you come to do to a respectable party, you ginger rat?" </p><p>"I come invited!”<br/>
Mercutio sultrily waved a crumpled, but bona fide invitation in front of him. He snatched it from his hand.</p><p>“Ah, I see. Stealing from old ladies or middle-school kids this time?”<br/>
Tybalt had written his name, and his little brother's as well to make it seem natural, in his uncle’s guest list himself.</p><p>“You must think I value my time very little, if you truly think I’d go through all this trouble just to tug at your pretty whiskers, baby boy.” </p><p>Tybalt smacked him flat with his palm in the middle of the forehead. “Lousy little brat. We'll see what my uncle has to say about this."<br/>
He grabbed his wrist and made to drag him upstairs, but then realized he had completely ignored the rest of the group he was leading - likely a useless band of hippies he sold to, or maybe his drag queen friends. Tybalt had no quarrel with them. </p><p>"Ah, and ye gentlemen come forth and dance at thy pleasure."<br/>
He bent in a sweeping bow and turned to the stairs, dragging his prey. </p><p>"No need, I got you covered." Mercutio whispered when he made a quick detour to snatch a bottle of whiskey from a table. </p><p>"Do you think I am so trusting, you fiend?" He replied, very loudly, and had to hold Mercutio up before he rolled over laughing. </p><p>Forcefully, his movements dramatic and imperious, he threw a door open and shoved Mercutio in, closing the door behind him with a fearsome bang. </p><p>"Oh, I really do put chilli under your tail, kitty dear." Mercutio said, hugging his knees in a corner, his eyes alight with glee. Tybalt kissed him long and hard, pressing him against the bathtub until he was gasping for breath.</p><p>“You’re terrible at this, you know. It sounds like pillow talk. You need to be insulted more often, I fear. Builds character.”</p><p>Mercutio shrugged, tilting his head cheerfully. “‘tis the curse of the fair folk. I can’t lie, just try to say the truth with different words.”</p><p>Tybalt set the bottle on the floor with a sigh. “Oh, already high?”</p><p>Mercutio lightly punched his shoulder, then nestled down in his lap and dropped his head against his chest. “You know, it’s just us here. You can stop pretending you could ever have any reason whatsoever to be unhappy with me.”</p><p>He snorted and pressed a kiss against his neck, stroking his hair. "Unhappy? I'm pissed right off at you. I'm oozing with bitter loathing." </p><p>Giggling, Mercutio threw off his dark robe, revealing a bottle nestled between his thighs. "Peace offering?" he said, handing it to Tybalt with a smile. </p><p>Tybalt took a swig of sugary peach vodka and put it down with a grimace. "Poison." </p><p>He kissed the pout off Mercutio's lips. Under the cloak, he was armored in tight - unpleasantly blue- denim, butterfly wings painted on the back of his vest. Tybalt ran his fingers in the middle of them, down Mercutio's spine, whispering compliments in his ear. It made his eyes light up, smug and cocky as he always tried to be. It was something that always filled him with tenderness - how colorful and beautiful Mercutio's world could be below the blackish lacquer of bitter sarcasm, how infectious his enthusiasm was. It felt so far away and precious. </p><p>He made a valiant attempt to give the vodka a chance, mixing it up with the whiskey in a plastic cup and drinking from it together. The liquid turned from an inviting soft brown to muddy and vaguely rancid with just a quick stir, and the taste made them both gag, but the the way their hands intertwined as they drunk from the same cup reminded him of the chalice of red wine and rose petal they had shared at summer solstice, and it brought the blood up to his cheeks all the same. </p><p>“Such rotten manners of me to come empty handed.” Mercutio protested softly when Tybalt banished the bottle behind the sink. He dug up a handful of colorful pills from his vest pocket. “Would you?”</p><p>Tybalt stuck out his tongue at him. “Not after last time.” </p><p>Mercutio rolled his eyes. “The problem’s with you, not the pills. You have to let go a little more for it to work.”</p><p>“Oh, I was letting go plenty. I was very open minded.” It had been a perfectly lovely night, drinking and dancing and making out topped with breaking into the Montagues’ garden to dull their senses and forget the present lying in their dark pool. He had no prejudices to speak of. “But  when your past life experience is sailing and tourneys and drinking absinthe with Oscar Wilde, and all I get is thirty minutes of being eaten by lions in a Roman arena, it’s hard to trust again.” </p><p>Mercutio softly smacked his cheek. “Poor darling. You’re just too much of a kitten.”<br/>
He pocketed his stash again. “Well, anyway, I am not going to fly on Queen Mab’s wings while my sweet love threads the ground.”</p><p>“How cute.” He took one more long, sloppy drink and wound his arms around Mercutio’s waist, his mind going blank for a moment when he licked the whiskey from his fingers.<br/>
“You know,” he mumbled, “I think you’d make more money with this business if you told people what you’re getting instead of “Queen Mab” and “Queen Titania” and “Tinkerbell”</p><p>“But what’s the fun in that?” Mercutio shrugged cheerfully. “Money is a burden. Always ruins everything.”</p><p>Tybalt would normally have rolled his eyes at such hippie shit, but it felt very wise from Mercutio’s mouth. “Yes, I mean,” he said “look at this family.” </p><p>Leaning forward around Mercutio, he swept the shower rug away and stole an excited gasp when he revealed the glass trap door underneath. People were starting to round up around the mahogany table and Mercutio leaned his cheek on his palm, studying the view.<br/>
"You know, with the right angle from up here you could probably manage to throw some rats on the table. Did you ever try?" </p><p>Tybalt laughed. "Alas, no." </p><p>"Altar boy." </p><p>"I'd try now." He conceded, staring darkly at the intern who had been seated next to Juliet, then titled Mercutio's face up with a significant stare. "But sadly I haven't had much time for rat-catching lately." </p><p>Mercutio bit his lip with a devilish look in his eyes. When school was closed, it wasn’t so easy to find places secluded enough to fully let themselves go, and he could feel sparks going off Mercutio’s skin as he wrapped his arms around his waist. </p><p>“See, they’re trying to hitch Jule with your cousin,” he complained softly in his ear. “Twenty-two or something. Fucking creep. My uncle wants his father’s money into the family, my aunt wants your uncle to be friendly when she wants to have someone knifed, the idiot is probably just hoping to screw my aunt and Jule wants this to be all over and go to her room and read. Can’t blame her.”</p><p>Mercutio’s eyes were wild with delight. “Oh, kitten mine, for all we can say about your family, it never bores me.”<br/>
He took a quick peek, lifting the trapdoor slightly. “Oh, that’s Paris! Yes, I’d try to enjoy this shitstorm and not fret too much about his dark plans. Once when I was thirteen I put ketchup in his shoes and he insisted giving my mom the money for the carpet cleaning.” </p><p>Even though it wasn’t particularly comforting, Tybalt snorted. “Thought so, if he fell for this sort of scheme. My aunt and uncle aren’t… very subtle people.”<br/>
He played with Mercutio’s fingers, half-focusing. “You know, this would all be a lot easier if we could just tell people about us, instead of having to bother with arranging a marriage with no reason to exist.”</p><p>
Mercutio stiffened slightly. “I don’t know, kitty. I’m not sure I’m as good as cousin Paris at providing benefits and honoring deals. People seem to be disappointed with wanting things I can’t give quite a lot.” </p><p>Tybalt nuzzled his face against his. “No, no, you’re selling yourself short. You’d be wasted on this family anyway. It could be a whole different thing with us at the head, but now? Wouldn’t wish it on a Montague.”</p><p>He hesitated for a moment, then fully opened the trapdoor and covered it with the rug, so that they could now hear what was going on below but not see. He twirled Mercutio around for a while to the soft echo of the music below before he found the courage to speak.<br/>
“You know, they made this back during World War Two. We were partisans back then. My dad and my uncle would have German soldiers over for dinner, my mother would sit here, nursing me, and listen and write down all their conversations. And my auntie - she was just a girl then - she made some sweet rat poison pies.”</p><p>Mercutio gasped in appreciation as he went on. “We were a real family then, you know, with courage and values. Verona owes its freedom to us. And now, what’s left of us? Just a bunch of old snakes running after money.”<br/>
His hand squeezed tight around Mercutio’s. “It wouldn’t be so bad without those Montaigus.” He spelled it out with a grimace, half-Swiss accent and all. “They only came here when the war was over, they know nothing of loyalty or bravery. But if they want power, we Capulets can’t give it up without a struggle, and we will fight them with the same weapons, but I know it’s ruining us. That it’s their fault if everyone in this family is so scheming and low-minded and-”</p><p>“You know, the Montagues probably say the same sort of thing.” Mercutio interrupted, his eyes hot and deep, quicksilver pools. “That you’re stuck up stubborn old money, that you think you’re so much better than anyone, that they don’t want to fight you but someone <i> has </i> to remind you of your place, right?”</p><p>Tybalt grimaced. “That’s right. I’m sure they enjoy twisting the truth to their bidding alright. But I know them too well.”</p><p>He felt Mercutio sigh against his lips. He cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead to reassure him. “I’m sorry, it won’t always be like this. Someday we’ll manage to chase them out of this town for good, and then we won’t bother with this bullshit anymore.”</p><p>There was something off and hesitant about Mercutio’s kisses, but Tybalt chalked it up to annoyance. He couldn’t blame him. It was an issue that should have been eradicated, burned and tossed over with salt long ago, if it wasn’t for his uncle’s wishy-washiness and civilized appearances and all those fancy words.</p><p>Mercutio smelled faintly of incense, as he always did. A little of damp dirt and a little of nail polish and a little of mint ice cream depending on where his heart led him that particular day - but there was always some incense burning in his room to loosen his nerves and other things too, he had explained the various scents and their various properties to him when he set them up in the hunting lodge, though Tybalt could barely tell them apart. </p><p>He supposed that was why he took so long to feel the smoke. </p><p>He broke away from Mercutio and ran to the door, but Mercutio held his wrist, his eyes turned up with such terror he just wanted to kiss the top of his head and reassure him all would be alright, until he spoke. “Don’t. It’s going to just be some kid who flipped over a mosquito candle. There’s no need for you down there. Don’t let them ruin your night again.”</p><p>The vagueness made him itch. “Them?”</p><p>“Your family. They can handle this shit on their own. Stay here with me.”</p><p>He tugged his arm away, making Mercutio fall forward on his knees, and dashed down the stairs to the garden, Mercutio stumbling chaotically after him. He was greeted downstairs by a gaggle of screaming and cowering middle school girls, smoke rising from his aunt’s roses, the back of his uncle’s hand stiff over his mouth. Benvolio Montague’s tipsy laughter assaulted him in the darkness, going through his brain like a line of barbed wire, too painful to even try decoding where it came from. </p><p>“Why?” He mouthed breathlessly, even though he knew no one was watching or listening anymore, too stunned and betrayed to form words.</p><p>Mercutio’s face was set as rigid as stone, his eyes popped wide like hard marble circles. There were tears on his cheeks. “I didn’t know they would...” he said, and then, “I can’t help it.”</p><p>A scrawny sixteen year old boy with a lopsided mask on his face grabbed him and ran. Mercutio’s frustrated sobs grew softer and softer, taking every evidence that anyone even cared the slightest bit for him away in the dark. Tybalt waited until the end, on the blackened and ruined lawn, conscious of all the eyes on him. Then he went up to his bedroom shrugging off his aunt’s protests that the party wasn’t over and they needed him still, and he pulled his father’s gun out of the closet.</p><p> *** </p><p>He only really needed to follow the music to find the Montagues. He waited until the sun was high in the sky, for he suspected they would be hungover and knew they'd not see fit to make themselves productive until then. </p><p>They were sprawled in the square in chaotic, insolent heaps of limbs and denim, Benvolio Montague strumming his guitar on the edge of the fountain, humming with a plaintive honey tinny that made his skin crawl  - <i> I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard and it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall. </i></p><p>So typical of Montague - all soft curls and doe eyes, fluttering in and out of student protests acting like just another dewy-eyed college boy after peace and free love, when the only way he was better than the rest of his ilk was at sweet-talking cops. There had been children at the party too, but did Capulet children not count to the little bastard? Mercutio was at his side, half leaning into his shoulder, but looking nowhere near as fresh and pretty - his eyes were circled black as if he had become soaked with the ash, his curls pulled back in a distracted bun. It distempered Tybalt’s rage a little - it would be so awful to see him happy and chirping, but he was not so cruel as a Montague, to not suffer at all for the pain he had brought him. </p><p>“Gentlemen, a word,” he said quietly, walking into the circle, drawing his gun. Silence dropped as if he had shot into a gaggle of songbirds. </p><p>“Just a word? Seems a waste of my time.” Mercutio said, and Benvolio put a warning hand on his shoulder. Tybalt had to restrain himself not to shoot his wrist in half like a bad apple. He thought of the embroidery his aunt kept over the fireplace - <i> look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent underneath. </i> She had always been the only one to warn him against the evil of the world.</p><p>“You went somewhere you weren’t welcome to, last night.” He chose to say, combating all their slipperiness with honesty. The boys all looked at each other uneasily. </p><p>“Yes, and whose fault is that? You were standing guard. It’s a bit late to weep on the spilled cream, kitty mine.”<br/>
Mercutio stood up, a grin flashing across his face. </p><p>He raised his eyebrow. “What are you doing? You were invited indeed. Let one of these cowards answer for what they did.”</p><p>“Seriously? Have you nothing better to do than play catch with this group of scared puppies? </p><p>Mercutio was standing right before him now, knife in hand. He didn’t look angry at all, barely even defiant, and it confused him. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he put his gun away and took a knife out too.</p><p>“Cutio…” the younger Montague muttered uneasily, his little altar-boy face flushed. It didn’t make his blood boil like Benvolio’s presumption did, but it was certainly irritating. Mercutio was a man, not a teddy bear or squeaky toy for some bored little brat. </p><p>At least, Mercutio seemed to feel similarly too - or at least he pushed the boy back and attacked, twisting around Tybalt in a half-hearted parody of dancing.<br/>
They fought often and enjoyed it, half for plausible deniability half for fun, rolling around unrestrained on the cobblestones and punching each other when the other was about to burst out laughing and blow the cover, but Mercutio was oddly hesitant today. When Tybalt tilted the knife under his chin, he stroked his cheek and said “Why don’t you just go home, darling,” with a mocking lilt in his voice and the most sincere exhaustion in his eyes.</p><p>Tybalt frowned, and he felt a surge of exasperation as the comedically slow sparring went on. Was Mercutio thinking to do him a favor going soft on him so he didn’t have to face real enemies? He was prone enough to such odd heroics that only he could possibly find sweet, but right now Tybalt was struggling to find his cluelessness as endearing as usual. Didn’t he realize the extent of what had happened, and why he couldn’t let it slide?</p><p>He groaned. “I’m not mad at you,” he hissed, “let me do what I’ve come here to do.”</p><p>Mercutio pretended he didn’t hear him, circling around him, sweat pouring down his forehead, over his fearful eyes. Tybalt was about to just knock him over and get this farce done with and on to real fighting, without embarrassing him further, when someone screamed. </p><p>"For God’s sake, you two, for the love I bear you!"<br/>
Romeo leapt between them and Mercutio was knocked off balance. Tybalt should have stepped back, he realized it later, but the instinct took over and he put his left hand on his shoulder to steady him, without moving his right. </p><p>It was quick - a violent in and a panicked out, blood spraying on Mercutio shirt like a second layer of tye-dye as he pulled the blade out as if it would set back time. .</p><p>Mercutio swayed a little, trembling, and Tybalt wrapped his arm around his waist and pulled him close as his knees gave out. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he mumbled, strangled. There was blood dripping down his sleeve and he couldn’t tell if it came from the knife still clutched in his hand or the gaping hole on Mercutio’s side. “I didn’t mean -”</p><p>“Why did you get between us?” Mercutio cried out, and pushed him away to grab Romeo’s collar, leaning desperately onto him. “I was hurt under your arm!”</p><p>The little Montague’s squeaking, useless encouragements were lost in the wind like a baby bird’s peeping, Mercutio growing angrier and more agitated in his arms until he broke off from him too, gesturing angrily at Benvolio to leave him alone. </p><p>“A plague on both your houses!” Mercutio laughed hysterically, spreading his arms like a bird in flight. “Look what you’ve done to me! I’m well and done with this world, and served well done at the worms’ feast! Aren’t you all happy”</p><p>That couldn’t be true, could it? Tybalt sprung to him, but he thought fighting him off might make him bleed worse and stopped. That wasn’t a dying wound now, was it? It was such a small knife, and off on the side with no real risk of catching anything vital, he thought, and one of the boys was hesitantly saying “Come on, Merc, this can’t be all that bad”, but there was so much blood…</p><p>“I bet you are. I bet this is all you ever wanted. A plague on both your houses! I’m all yours with no takebacks now.”<br/>
He slapped the Montague boys hard in the face, leaving bloody handprints on their cheeks. The little one broke down sobbing, the older just staring, petrified. He saw Mercutio run to him as if through the haze of a dream, stretching his arms out to hold him, but he collapsed before he reached him, doubled over, a hand pressed on the wound. Tybalt wanted to kneel beside him, but he only managed to put himself between him and the Montagues like a rabid bear guarding his prey, his heart choking and slamming faster and faster in his chest.</p><p>They stood at a stall like a bad Western movie, Tybalt confusedly aware Benvolio was reaching for the gun somewhere in his stupid hippie pants and little Romeo had a boy scout knife up his sleeve and for a moment all he wanted to do was to dart and slit their throats - he could do that so easily while they were frozen and bewildered, their eyes switching restlessly between Tybalt and Mercutio, who lay groaning on the scalding asphalt and <i> they should pay for making him do this, everyone in this town should burn for pissing on the fame of their love </i> - and then he ran in the opposite direction instead. </p><p>Mercutio cried out in pain - surely not terror, surely he knew this wasn’t on purpose? - when he lifted him up, but slowly went quiet as he started the bike and started to fold over a little after a couple miles. </p><p><i> This is madness </i> he thought, propping him haphazardly against his chest, fighting to ignore the incoherent butterfly spasms of his eyelids - he should turn back, cut himself up a bit so it looks like a fair fight because Mercutio is still the chief's nephew and if he gives him a slap on the wrist he can't well lock Tybalt up, let this disaster behind him, give up on this high-maintenance ordeal of a relationship - but he couldn't. <i> He's my husband, he's mine. They can't have him. His uncle would throw him in a cell and throw away the key if he knew and knows that, he knows he can't be anyone's but mine. </i></p><p>Thank God, once they were out of the city walls the Montagues seemed to have lost them and the fresh hair dispelled his confused thoughts. He found his way to the hunting lodge easily, leaving his bike at the edge of the clearing, hidden in the blueberry bushes. Optimistically, he gently helped Mercutio on the ground, but he crumbled in his arms in a chaotic heap as soon as he moved him, so he carried him in like he had on their wedding night, his lips pressed against his ear to whisper <i> we're home, you're safe. </i></p><p>He put him down on the couch, with his feet up and a pillow under his lower back to redirect his blood away from the wound. He peeled off his reddened shirt and cleaned the cut, eliciting a small whimper when he pressed alcohol against the raw flesh. His trousers were black leather and looked constricting, uncomfortable. He stripped him down to his boxers and undid his bun, gently combing down his curls and spreading them out of his face. </p><p>This way, stretched out almost naked and breathing a little easier, he looked like he was just asleep in his arms after sex, undone and unharmed. Tybalt placed a soft, chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth, stretching out the cottage's fraying phone cable to call Rosaline, then bunched up the shirt to put pressure against the wound.  </p><p>He jumped when his hand snapped around his wrist.<br/>
"Is he gone and has nothing?" Mercutio slurred, his eyelids lifting just slightly. Tybalt flinched at the helpless hurt in his voice. It would have been such a pleasure for the Montagues to take advantage of this uncharacteristic vulnerability and make him believe that his own lover had left him for dead, if he had stayed and gotten arrested or even left Mercutio's side for a moment. </p><p>“No” he mumbled, trying his best to smile. Slowly, he pried Mercutio’s hand off and pressed a kiss on his knuckles.  “I’m here. I’m not going to leave you.” </p><p>Mercutio’s eyes snapped open. He sat up abruptly, but at the sight of the blood seeping through the cloth he gagged and slumped back, a hand pressed over his mouth. Frowning, Tybalt made the quickest detour to the kitchen he could to throw away the dirty gauze and swap the shirt for a clean towel, then pulled a quilt over Mercutio's waist for good measure and fanned him a little, running his thumb over his cheekbone. "Better?" he whispered. Mercutio laid stiff, looking at him in confusion. His face was slightly gray. </p><p>He felt the instinct to pull him into his lap, stroke his hair and rub his back to soothe him, but he was scared it would hurt him. "What a pussy you are" he complained instead. "What do you have all these knives for?" </p><p>A surge of bitter tenderness flashed through him at those words - Mercutio was so innocent in certain ways, foul mouthed and dirty minded as he was in most. He had his little weapon collection and his brass knuckles and boxing gloves and leather jackets with painfully fragile spikes on them, but fighting was little more than a thrilling dance to him. He had no real experience of the harshest consequences of it - of course, or how could he go on living like this, with the Montagues in the streets and a Capulet in the sheets? </p><p>His heart sank. He had been wishing for him to understand that for so long, to know how much more weight such fights held to Tybalt, to finally realize he had his reasons for not wanting him to dally in a precarious place between the two families, without the proper protection of either one. But he had never thought he would be the one to expose him so cruelly to suffering, when he was the one who was supposed to shield him from harm. </p><p>"Smug fucking bastard" Mercutio snarled. "Thought you'd prick me to death, did you?" </p><p>Tybalt blinked, then cupped his cheek. "It's only us here, you don't have to pretend. Try to relax, rather." </p><p>“Pretend? Kitty, love, you realize you’ve just skewered me up?” His laughter faded into a strangled sound, as his eyes spun around the room in panic. “Where the fuck are we even? Did you kidnap me, too?”</p><p>“Just our place in the woods. I thought I should take you to a safe place, what with your uncle cracking up on fighting and all - I wasn’t sure those idiots wouldn’t just throw you under the bus. But it’s just for a little while until you feel better. Does it hurt a lot?”</p><p>The horror on Mercutio’s face didn’t fade with his words, his breathing becoming visibly ragged as he stared up at him, uncomprehending. Tybalt dropped on his knees and pressed his hand against his cheek. “Oh, Mercutio, you don’t think I did this on purpose? I’m not mad at you. I know you said you couldn’t help it, and if they forced you to do this - oh, I’ll take care of them later. But I was never going to hurt you.” </p><p>“Obviously that wasn’t such a priority to you.” Mercutio snapped, facing away. He weakly slapped Tybalt’s hand, but he didn’t leave him.</p><p>“Well, you attacked me.” He pointed out, annoyed. “I certainly couldn’t just run away without vindication once I started a fight, you know that.” </p><p>“Yes, to give you a fight before someone decided to just shoot you as you honestly fucking deserved.” He satched the towel from his hand and tried to shove him off, but he was still too weak and uncoordinated to put enough pressure and blood started dripping down his side again. </p><p>Tybalt scoffed. “Oh, to protect me then? Exactly what I needed, you getting hurt meddling into things that don’t concern you. And of course those dogs were only happy to let you risk your life for them.”</p><p>Mercutio was seething. “Romeo tried…”</p><p>“To kill you, apparently. You can’t keep associating with them. Look where it got you. What if it’s worse next time?”</p><p>Mercutio closed his eyes, laughing weekly. “So you’re saying it’s my fault that you stabbed me?”</p><p>“It’s their fault.” He amended quickly, noticing the hurt in his eyes, softening up and stroking his hair. “I know they took advantage of you for this stunt of theirs. Did you know fire was in the plans? I bet they sprung it on you. Did they threaten you?”</p><p>“What the fuck.” He whispered. “What? Are you drunk? Are you high? Why would they  threaten me?”</p><p>“Well, I don’t think you came to set fire to my house of your own volition, did you?”<br/>
His head hurt.</p><p>Mercutio shrugged. “They were just planning to set on some fireworks. I’m sorry they fucked it up to this extent” he squirmed and yelped as Tybalt accidentally pressed harder “but they were never going to do fucking arson, why would they? It was a stupid prank. You’re the only one here who thinks everything has to end in murder all the time.” </p><p>Tybalt rose up abruptly and turned for a moment to rub his eyes and stop the shaking of his hands. <i> He’s just never going to get it, never. </i> Yet he had always been as sincere as a child to Mercutio, baring himself shamelessly, telling him his secrets, his family’s secrets because he always had such bright and understanding eyes and he <i> listened </i> - that couldn’t be Montague deception all along, right? He knew everything. Everything that happened during the war and everything that happened now. </p><p>“Did you also think my uncle wouldn’t hold me responsible?” he snapped, feeling pathetic as soon as he started, but unable to stop. He flinched when Mercutio softly touched the bruises on his cheek, even caresses feeling like whispered lies.</p><p>“I feared it. I always fear for you.” He whispered. “But what am I to do? I keep telling you to fight back against him, to leave everything behind and you never do. It’s hard when everyone hurts you, and yet I’m always to blame for it.”</p><p>Tybalt felt rage mounting up to his throat, drowning him. He yielded to it.<br/>
“You know, it might be we wouldn’t even need this deception if you were less difficult all the time. After all, I’m not my uncle’s son - I’m not going to be popping out his grandchildren. He might stare at me wrong for a couple days, but he wouldn’t kick me out or disinherit me or anything. It’s obvious my life isn’t going anywhere that requires an immaculate reputation, and everyone in this town knows better than to beat me up, fairy or not. They’d know better than trying things with you, if they knew you were under my protection, if you stopped dithering. We could have everything we want if you just stopped trying so hard to be a Montague.”</p><p>It felt terribly pitiful as he said, but then he wondered why - he didn’t feel pitiable at all. He had accepted his lot a while ago - that there was no one left on this Earth particularly interested in his success, that his fourteen-year-old hopes he might make up for lack of booksmarts for a strong inclination for arguments enough to try law had faded before sophomore year started, that there was no future left for him beyond odd jobs for his uncle by the day and odd beatings by night. He had thought nothing of it, as long as he could dream of doing it with Mercutio by his side. As long as he could dream of how sweet Mercutio would look in red. But the Mercutio he had in front of him now, frozen in a wild mix of amusement and hysterical rage, offered him no sweet dreams at all-</p><p>“Oh Lord, sorry! There I am, forgetting again the world rests on my shoulders for me to change for you as I please.” Mercutio laughed, curling away from him, burying his face in his hands. “I could tell you the same thing, love. I could tell you that if you loved me you might want to choose me over your family, for you say yourself it is all corrupted and maggoty and yet it matters to you more than me, or I could say if you loved me you would think well of me, and not that I’m always to blame for everything. But why am I even expecting to love you? I know our promises were just a little bit of roleplay to you. I know it’s just you probably can’t get it hard for anything you didn’t rip from a Montague’s hands-”</p><p>Tybalt pressed his hand over Mercutio’s mouth, hard, making him whimper, lowering down so his eyes were locked into his. “I’ve heard enough of this nonsense. Quiet. Rosaline will come to stitch you up soon, and then we can talk, but now I don’t want to hear one more word from your disloyal mouth.”</p><p>“Oh, yes?” Mercutio dug in his pocket, freeing himself with a grunt. "Well, if you think me so unsuited to meeting your family, I won't be spoiling everything now."<br/>
Before he could realize anything, he gulped down a pill and shot a languid smile at him, perfectly serene as his eyes fluttered shut, leaving him alone to bitter reality. </p><p>Rosaline came and took her sweet time to stitch Mercutio up, throwing knowing glances at him the whole time. Tybalt sat on the chair in silence, arms crossed defensively, and kept selfishly hoping Mercutio's pills would disappoint and he'd have at least his anger and bratty sarcasm to dispel the heavy silence. He tucked the awareness of how much he missed them back where it came from, huffing in frustration. </p><p>"You know, this looks like nothing serious, but if he's been out cold this whole time it might be really better you take him to a real doctor." Rosaline said in the end, as she pocketed the needle again and ran ice on Mercutio's irritated skin. </p><p>Tybalt looked askance. "No, he wasn't. He's just being a stubborn bitch" he mumbled, aware of how little context that provided and still vividly unwilling to offer a scrap more.<br/>
“Mh.” She lifted her eyes for another knowing glance. Tybalt felt his hands twitch. He was more than done with avoidant snakes and lingering unsaid things. </p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“What are you doing with this boy, Tybbs?” Her voice was the same soft whisper of when they coordinated in hide-and-seek as little children, and it dampened his much-needed rage like thoughts of grandmas in underwear in the focal moment. It only made things worse.</p><p>“He’s my husband. I thought you were not disgusted with us?” He knew she disapproved of their marriage, of how fast they had been, but then, Rosaline has always mistrusted passions, ice to his fire. She had been encouraging at first and patient along the way, the only one he could confide in.</p><p>“I could never.” She brushed her fingers against his cheek - he had to fight himself not to turn off abruptly. “But you have to recognize this is going somewhere you can’t handle, and I worry for you.”</p><p>He bit his lip. "There's nothing wrong with us, I can handle this perfectly well. I'm going to fight for him." </p><p>"But <i> who </i> are you going to fight?" </p><p>He buried his face in his hands for a moment, struggling to face Rosaline again. I know what it looks like, he almost said, like a whiny child caught in the act, but he collected himself.<br/>
"Whoever I need." </p><p>There had to be someone - he remembered how scared Mercutio had been on the square, the way he had snapped at the Montague boys and accused them of… He couldn't quite grasp what it was, but Mercutio clearly thought they were to blame for this somehow. He knew he needed Tybalt to fight for him even if he couldn't admit it to himself. </p><p>Rosaline covered Mercutio back up with a sigh. "Well, for now he should be fine. Try not to get him to rip the stitching open as soon as he wakes up, and call me if there's any development."<br/>
She pressed a kiss against his forehead. "I wish you the best of luck." </p><p>The sky had started to turn dark when he walked her to her car. He felt it was time to go to sleep. </p><p>Suddenly self-conscious of how soaked in Mercutio’s blood his shirt was - that couldn’t have made things any easier on him, could it - he stripped down and picked his father’s old army jacket off the closet, breathing in the old, soothing smell of pipe smoke and gunpowder. He wondered if it would ever fade, or if he was already just imagining it. He figured it didn’t make a difference.<br/>
He curled up on the small free space on the couch, lifted Mercutio up and stretched his legs under him so he was lying on his chest. There was still a vague, irritating smile on his face: Tybalt ran his hand on his cheek to rub it off and then brushed his lips against his. </p><p>His skin had gone a little pale from the blood loss, but still felt all-day-in-the-sun warm against his lips, his hair soft and fine as a baby’s. He wondered if he was in pain, if his sleep would be very troubled without pills. He kissed his hands, lingering on the little symbols on his knuckles, the detailed snake wound up his wrist. He couldn't quite muster the same fascination he usually felt now, but it would come back. “I was never going to let those Montagues take you away from me,” he whispered in his ear. “Maybe you can’t help it but I do. I’d do anything for you.” </p><p>He felt very sure about those words, but less that Mercutio would actually believe them. The thought of having to see him angry at him again the next morning, and unable to cut the discussion short and make things physical in either way without seriously hurting him, was a very powerful temptation to just turn Mercutio’s pockets inside out and swallow all he could find. But he was scared this would lead to even worse visions than last time - Mercutio bleeding out in his arms in the arena of a tourney gone wrong, dancing around him in the crusade field, scimitar in hand - and he tried to just close his eyes and hope for the best.</p><p>But instead of his fears, he saw Mercutio sitting cross-legged in the cabin on their wedding day, stirring the goblet as he explained his vows to him - <i> you see, when Ariadne was left alone on the island and she was discouraged and weeping, it wasn’t Hera who came to enforce the rights of a sacred marriage, nor Aphrodite in the name of love, but Dionysus who gave her his wine and his kisses and took her away from the place of woe. So, in the name of the Lord of chaos and wine, I vow to love you until I live and give you comfort and joy whenever you need it, not because I am forced, but because we both wish it. </i> Tybalt could see his sweet, tantalizing smile two inches from him, but although then he had tasted wine and rose petals on his lips as he repeated his words, here Mercutio seemed to escape him everytime he leaned in to kiss him.</p><p>He woke suddenly and unpleasantly, a radio he didn’t remember turning on chirping the damn song again - I saw one man who was wounded in love, I saw another man who was wounded in hatred, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard…<br/>
He groaned and reached blindly for something to throw at it, but failed and had to open his eyes.<br/>
Mercutio was squatting over him, naked as he had left him, holding a bowl of mouldy, melting ice cream right in his face.</p><p>He squinted, wrinkling his nose at the assault of vanilla, rotting strawberries and flies in his face. “‘morning, love. I found our wedding cake.” Mercutio said flatly.<br/>
Tybalt looked down and recognized the colors in the bowl, a fit of nausea lurching at his stomach. He put his hand on Mercutio’s waist, wincing at the tension in his muscles, the struggle to stand upright, but Mercutio pushed him off.</p><p>“It’s pretty put together still, considering you left the fridge turned off this whole time. But after all, we’ve only been married a month. Impressive we’ve already fucked up this far when you think of that, isn’t it?”</p><p>He buried his face in his hands, rubbed his eyes and looked up at him blearily. “Shut up. Just shut up.”<br/>
He looked so fragile and unsteady, perched on the couch like this. Tybalt briefly fantasized about shoving him off to crash on the floor, sugary slime splashing all over his smug face.<br/>
Instead, he ripped the bowl from his hands and tackled him down on the couch.<br/>
Mercutio screamed indignantly and tried to kick him, but he ignored it. “You’re hurting yourself. Just lie still for five fucking minutes.”</p><p>He poured the contents of the bowl out in the trash and let it smash against the wall, grimacing when Mercutio let out a startled gasp. <i> Stop acting like I’m about to kill you, </i> he wanted to say, but it frustrated him that it would put him so straight in the wrong. Why couldn’t the stupid little Montague have pushed him into Mercutio’s knife instead? He would have taken it with a lot more resilience and he wouldn’t feel so awkward now.</p><p>“You see, at our wedding we never said that I’m yours and you’re mine, but I assumed it was what you wanted.”</p><p>Mercutio sat up and pouted, but at least stayed where he was with no further attempts to fight him. “Well, what’s the fun in that.”</p><p>“Oh, so it’s free love you want? In my bed on Monday, Benvolio on Tuesday, Romeo on Wednesday and why not Rosaline on Thursday at this point?” </p><p>As he turned around to shut off the damn radio, he heard Mercutio sniffle. “Fuck you.”<br/>
Miserable, sweaty and red eyed, he looked like a kitten left under the rain too long, and Tybalt savored the mixing of pity and twisted satisfaction for a moment.</p><p>“Well, what do you want then?” he asked, brushing his fingertips on his cheek. “I know this is all very fun for you, playing the little prince of chaos slipping from everyone’s grasp. Why even pretend you care about me at all?”</p><p>“Fuck you, it’s not that.” He slapped his hand with very little effort, his voice falling into a low mumble. “I thought you would like to fight for me, but I should know it’s always all pretty words.”</p><p>Tybalt felt himself go red. Was it possible he had been half-aware and hearing all he was saying to Rosaline? The thought was unbearably mortifying. “Of course I do. You’re the one who seems to want me to just give you up to <i> them </i> and get it over with” he snapped.</p><p>Mercutio shook his head. “Just say you want me tied up and handed to you on a silver platter.” </p><p>There were real tears on his cheeks now, and Tybalt rubbed them off impatiently. “Crying won’t do shit now.” Mercutio stubbornly bit back a sob, avoiding his glance. “I never forced you to marry me, or be with me at all. I’m not so jealous, I think, I’m not so cruel. Is this one little thing so much to ask?”</p><p>"How little? Is me becoming a Capulet for good and never seeing my friends again that you want? Or is never bringing them around your family again and never forcing you to acknowledge it enough?" </p><p>Tybalt balled his hands into fists. "You would become a Capulet by marriage indeed, if the work wasn't so against us and we didn't have to hide." He took a look into Mercutio's sad, guilty eyes, wondering what they hid. "Was this your plan all along? That I was just going to forget my family, forget my responsibilities and let everything slide in the power or love?" </p><p>Mercutio smirked tiredly, leaning back. Tybalt lifted his arm to let him lean on his shoulder, but stopped midway. "I wonder why you bother with it sometimes," he said, "but no. I've never been so naive."</p><p>"Then what? We aren’t stupid kids anymore - you can’t stand in between forever. Look what it got you. Wouldn’t it be nice to know where you belong? Why are you doing this?”</p><p>Mercutio giggled, shakily, rubbing his eyes. “Maybe I just want you to chase me forever. Isn’t this fun? Cat and mouse alright. We’ll never get bored.”</p><p>He grimaced. “So that’s it? To make you feel alive?”</p><p>“To make me feel like anyone in the world fucking cares about me at all.” </p><p>Tybalt blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of these words. Mercutio was blushing in very real discomfort, but it seemed so surreal, and he normally wouldn’t put it past him to just fake this to make peace and have him comfort him and then say it was all a joke and make fun of him for how he had fallen for it. But then, he usually found his anger too amusing to lower himself to defuse.<br/>
“Plenty of people like you.” He decided to say in the end, stroking his hair. “You’re surrounded all the time.”</p><p>"Oh, it's not like that takes a lot of effort. I like most people too, isn't that silly? And people like what is handed to them for free even if they don't want it much. That's what they say about me - that everything was always handed to me on a silver platter, and who cares if I like it or not. But no one ever really fought to keep before I met you." </p><p>He blinked away the stinging at the back of his eyelids. “So that’s what you mean, that you can’t help it? That you need me that badly?” Mercutio didn’t answer. He pressed a kiss against his palm. “Don’t your Montague boys fight for you?”</p><p>Mercutio sighed. “They do try their best. They just don’t love fighting much, whatever it's for.”</p><p>Tybalt wound his arms around Mercutio’s waist and let him press his forehead against his bare shoulder, flinching at the warmth of his tears. It was a terribly charming thought to believe, but he thought of the desperate look in Romeo’s eyes, Benvolio’s possessive hand. “Yes?” he half joked “But which way did it go? I’m not sure if you met me or them first. Are they the test to see how far I’ll fight for you, or the other way around?”</p><p>Mercutio giggled against his neck. “Well, what’s the fun in knowing that?”</p><p>Tybalt felt sure enough it was just a joke to just roll his eyes. “I’ll always fight for you. Montague boys or your family or any dicks who don’t like us being together or whoever needs to be fought. You don’t need this test.” </p><p>“Bullshit. I know you like the challenge. You’re a kitten for a reason.”</p><p>He felt, flattering as that was, that Mercutio was seriously overestimating his bravery. “I’d like it better if I knew for sure you were mine.” </p><p>That made him laugh harder and more genuinely, warming his heart. “Then what kind of challenge would it be! I can’t believe it’s a doubt for you. Here I am trying so hard to not make it so obvious how desperately I need you, and you hit me with this.”</p><p>Tybalt shrugged apologetically. “You’re good at playing cool.”</p><p>“Remember how I joked about getting real wedding rings and you said that would be silly if no one knew what they’re for anyway?” Mercutio flexed his fingers, showing off the small stylized dagger tattooed on his knuckle. “Look at the outline. T for Tybalt. Can you be more of a lovestruck idiot than this?”</p><p>He laughed. “You’re kidding me.”</p><p>“I swear. I felt like a schmuck having gotten married with nothing to show for it.” He smiled, and Tybalt kissed his finger, a floating, warm feeling starting to spread through his body. He was half-convinced it was false security, but wanted to run with it so badly.</p><p>“Well, I want one too then.” He said. “It seems against the purpose for only you to have it.” </p><p>He expected Mercutio to tease him, but instead he just pulled away and repositioned himself against the headrest, looking up attentively. “Just grab my backpack.”</p><p>He snorted. “Seriously? You have the needle here with you?”</p><p>“You never know when you need it.”</p><p>“We should probably wait. You’re hurt and your hands will shake.”</p><p>Mercutio “I can’t believe you have so little faith in me. It should be more meaningful if it’s done from your own husband, when it’s a wedding tattoo.The cheek of complaining my hands will shake when you’re the one who stabbed me!”</p><p>He couldn’t deny him. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you do it.”</p><p>He grabbed a bit of half-formed ice from the freezer for him and sat down on the ground, putting his hand in Mercutio’s lap. “But what are you going to make?” he asked as he began to study it. “I can’t just go around with an M on my finger.”</p><p>“Trust me.” He flashed a smile at him as he started working, filling up the ink vialet and poking at his skin. Soon he was tense with focus, his eyes illuminated and completely fixed on him, lips parted in concentration. Tybalt found it distinctly hard to sit still. It was the first time he had Mercutio do any work on him and he should probably have anticipated this consequence.</p><p>However, somehow, he managed to last until the end and Mercutio pulled away to reveal the tiny silhouette of a bird in flight, drawn with the angular wings of a child’s drawing to vaguely hint at the shape of the letter.  “As in the poem,” Mercutio explains. “<i> You’re like the swallow, that comes every spring, but it leaves again in autumn, and you don’t know that trick. </i> Except I know how to leave, but not how to stay away.”</p><p>Tybalt took a long look at him and smirked. Mercutio ran his hand in his hair, sighing. “I think you might be right that I need to cut down the time I spend with Romeo.” He admired the figure for a few moments before wrapping him up. “Also, the alternative was a musical note and there’s no way anyone would buy it, when your taste stopped dead in the fifties - eighteen-fifties.”</p><p>“Dick.” Tybalt stuck his tongue out at him. Softly, he ran his fingers through his hair and kissed him, slowly pushing him down on the couch. Mercutio was strangely yielding to his touch, the tension in his muscles loosening all at once. “How are you feeling?” he whispered.</p><p>“Sore, and all tingly, and I’m starving too,” he said, stretching his arms. “But I can’t complain.”</p><p>Tybalt picked up an ice cube and traced the curve of his hip bone, lighter on the sensitive skin around the stitching, grinning when Mercutio closed his eyes in bliss. “I might not have been thinking things too through when I brought you here,” he admitted, ignoring Mercutio’s sarcastic <i> nooo </i>. “But I’m going to pick you some blueberries for breakfast, and make tea, so you’ll have to forgive me.” </p><p>Mercutio nodded cheerfully, and he seemed calm and well enough he could really leave him alone. He left a quick kiss on his temple and went to the door - he figured they could go back to the city pretty soon, as soon as Mercutio felt up to the ride and able to act like nothing happened, but he saw no reason to not enjoy the place while they could.</p><p>He walked out to the blueberry patch, but stopped in his tracks right away. In front of him, huddled like nervous carrion birds around his motorbike, were the two Montague boys with their knives out and ready.</p><p>“There he is!” Benvolio stood up, his eyes red with tears. “Fucking bastard. Leave Mercutio out of this power play of yours, or…” </p><p>Tybalt smirked, feeling the gauze ring around his finger. “That would be pretty hard right now.” </p><p>“What?” Romeo looked in terror at his cousin, then at Tybalt. “Where is he? What did you do with him? Oh Ben, he's completely nuts, didn't even bother leaving town, what did he-”</p><p>Seen like this, there was something so innocent and fumbling about them. Tybalt knew better than to fall for it, but it was hard to not be amused, now he was certain that at least the threat that concerned him most was out of their reach. “Inside. He’s resting.”</p><p>The boy sucked a panicked breath in, then lunged at him. “Resting <i> how, </i> you bloodthirsty freak-”</p><p>“Romeo, don’t!” Benvolio held him back, hiding his face in the crook of his neck with a sob, his voice dropping to a whisper as if Tybalt wasn’t right there to hear. “Not you too.” </p><p>Tybalt wondered faintly if Mercutio would find this funny or touching or both. It was usually both, with Mercutio. </p><p>“Take us to him.” The older brat said, his hand shaking so badly it was a wonder he didn’t drop the knife, and his voice even worse. “If he’s not here, we’re calling the cops, and if you pulled - if you pull any shit, you… you’re not leaving this place all in one piece.” </p><p>Tybalt let himself enjoy a long, deep laugh, doubling over just enough that he could still keep an eye on these useless little knives. He wondered how Mercutio would like a first demonstration of his willingness to fight for him right there in the lodge - nothing too damaging, that would be against the spirit and cut the chase pretty short, but just enough to make it clear who Mercutio belonged to - who he had obviously chosen to belong to. And he’d probably enjoy the sight of these teary-eyed faces worried sick on his behalf, ridiculous as it was they were seriously expecting him to have taken Mercutio to carve motorbike gloves out of his skin or hang his head over the chimney or whatever they had seen in some C-level horror movie. He would feel offended, normally, but he was enjoying it right now.</p><p>He smirked at the boys, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you kids just come in for tea.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As usual, I want to thank my recip Cennoreth for this lovely prompt! It was wonderful to write something fluffier for them this time. </p><p>Title and quotes from Bob Dylan's A hard rain's-a-gonna fall, whereas you can read an English traslation of the poem mentioned here: https://lyricstranslate.com/en/mia-moglie-my-wife.html</p></blockquote></div></div>
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